


kiss me and say you understand

by gildedfrost



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BioShock, Dancing, Identity Reveal, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rapture (BioShock)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: Hank moves to Rapture, Gavin meets Connor, and the three of them ring in the new year with a bang at the Kashmir Restaurant.





	kiss me and say you understand

**04 July 1956**

**9:52 PM**

 

“I miss the fireworks.” Gavin takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke slowly. “We’ve got sparklers, lightshows, and whatever the hell else is happening at the parties tonight, but no fireworks. Kinda fucked up, don’t you think?”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore.” Hank holds his own unlit cigarette, staring out at the window before them, the thick glass all that stands between their quiet bench and the majesty of the ocean. The cityscape sprawls across miles, buildings descending into murky darkness below. A school of fish passes by a few feet away. The whole of it is lit by the cool lights of the buildings, half of them declaring the name of one company or another.

It’s a quiet evening. Couples, groups, and the occasional singlet can be heard passing through the hall behind them, all in a hurry to reach their destinations. A few stop at the pneumo to marvel at the novelty of it, but none linger. Jazz plays in the distance, tunes barely recognizable.

“You know how it is. People want any excuse to party, American or not.” Gavin leans back, settling his arms across the back of the bench. He turns his eyes to Hank. “Ten days from now it’ll be like New Year’s all over again, only with more imported goods. Everything’s about the aesthetic and the glamour. You remember how fucked up Easter got.”

“Yeah.” Hank plays with his lighter. “How do you get used to it?”

Gavin shrugs. “I grew up with Eli. Kinda comes with the territory.”

Hank’s only been here for half a year, invited by Elijah Kamski himself after word of his son’s passing reached him through the grapevine. Hired, rather, as a personal assistant, which has turned out to be as much secretarial work as it is running across the city to meet with associates for five minutes or sniff out a rumor. All because he once worked with former detective Gavin Reed, and said former detective had once implied Hank was an admirable man.

He accepted, somehow, despite knowing that he was being used. The position wasn’t granted out of charity and isn’t reliable--but it got him out of Detroit and that is what matters, in the end, as impulsive a decision as it was. Fowler probably thinks him dead. He fits in well enough here even if socializing with the upper crust grates at him. It’s no wonder he ends up spending more time with Gavin, who has settled into his job as a welder for Ryan Industries.

The electric blue light of CyberLife Industries shines in the distance, the initial _C_ looking almost like a complete circle, the symbol matching the LEDs on the temple of the mechanical pets they produce. Additional inventions are made, certainly, but pets and prosthetics reign in the public eye.

Out of the public eye, Hank doesn’t know much, but he does know that the LEDs are removable.

Not all the fish around Rapture are organic.

“Think they’ll ever make a firework plasmid?”

“Where’s the demand?” Gavin asks. “They wouldn’t. More of a chance you’d burn your fingers off than put on a show. Then again, that’d be a show in itself, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess.” Hank lights his cigarette as Gavin puts his out. “You heading to High Street tonight?”

“I’ll hit one of the bars on my way home. You?”

“Nah.” He sighs. “Kamski wanted me to step into a couple of parties. I spent an hour at Beaumont’s. As far as I’m concerned, that’s plenty.”

“Too much politics for you?”

“Too much money.”

Gavin laughs. He pats Hank’s shoulder before standing, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “You might be in the wrong fucking city.”

“I knew I was before I got here.” He raises his hand in a brief wave. “See you Saturday?”

“As usual.”

 

 

**10 August 1958**

**10:00 AM**

 

“Lieutenant Anderson.”

Hank looks up from his breakfast croissant to find a man in a charcoal suit and black tie by his café table. He doesn’t recognize him, but the title keeps him from snubbing the man outright. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

The stranger offers his hand. “Connor Clark of CyberLife Industries. Mr. Kamski said I might find you here.”

“Did he now?” Hank wipes the crumbs off his hands and takes the stranger’s hand, then gestures across the table. “Have a seat, Mr. Clark.”

“Connor, please.”

“Connor.” He watches Connor wave away a waiter carrying a pot of coffee. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You’re here on business?”

“Mr. Kamski invited me to join him down here and I simply couldn’t refuse.” He flashes a sharp smile, teeth perfectly straight and white. “Has he not told you about me?”

“I’m afraid not. Why? He finally kicking me out?”

“No.” His smile softens, and it becomes painfully apparent that the expression is uncomfortable for him. “I’ve been hired on as an accountant. A rather dull role for such a grand city, don’t you think? I thought I’d take a look around, see what the fuss is all about. My impression is that Mr. Kamski doesn’t exactly get out much. You, on the other hand, have quite the busy schedule.”

Hank nods slowly. “So you want to follow me around like a lost puppy until you’re satisfied with who and what you know.”

Connor laughs. “That would not be entirely inaccurate. I want to learn as much about Rapture as I can. Between you and Gavin, I imagine that should cover most of it.” The smile becomes a grin. “It is not within your interest to refuse.”

Hank raises his hands in surrender. “Look, I don’t play politics, I--”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“My job is to make sure everyone trusts me.”

“Of course. No politics there,” Connor says dryly.

“Christ.”

“In this city? I don’t think so.”

Hank sighs, which turns into a chuckle. Maybe this guy won’t be insufferable like everyone else. He won’t get his hopes up, but if it happens that way, he won’t complain. “Need me to hold your hand and give you the grand tour?”

“I can read a map as well as anyone else, but I would be obliged if you could introduce me to some of the people around here. What’s on your agenda for today?”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “What, no accounting to be done?”

“I’m very efficient at my job, Mr. Anderson. I have all day.”

“You gonna make it worth my while dragging you around the metro?”

“I have no inclination to become indebted to you, but we can say that I will not forget a favor.” Connor offers his hand once more. “What do you say?”

Hank takes it. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

 

**21 October 1958**

**5:15 PM**

 

“I got a question for you,” Gavin says. He offers Connor a cigarette.

Connor takes the stick but declines the light, moving it away from the tiny flame at the tip of Gavin’s finger. “You know I cannot provide you any sensitive information about your brother’s company.”

“What a fucking shame.” Gavin sighs dramatically, slouching back on the bench. A passersby shoots him a dirty look, mechanical peacock following at her heels. “Con, why would I ask you about that? I don’t give a shit about him or his company. He’s up there, I’m down here, and for all I know he’s forgotten about me.”

“You asked after him last month.”

“Didn’t know if he’d be a target, after what happened to Fontaine. Doesn’t mean I care now.”

“Alright.” Connor spares a glance for the fountain behind them, the splash of a penny in the water catching his attention. “Is it a personal question?”

He nods. “What do you think about all this? You know, Atlas and his cause. Does it scare you? I mean, you must’ve come down here with the promise of wealth and freedom, and he’s challenging all of that.”

“I don’t feel fear.” He puts the cigarette between his lips.

Gavin laughs, the sound sharp and coarse. “Wow. What are you, better than all the rest of us because you’ve got more cash in your pocket? Is that it? A man who doesn’t feel fear… That’s a man who ends up dead. Or, worse, penniless.”

“Are you afraid for me, Gavin?”

“Nah. Just thought you’d, I don’t know, try to get your ass back on dry land. I know some folks have made contingency plans, but they’re too scared of letting go of their wealth to leave just yet. You don’t exactly have roots here yet.”

Connor hums. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. My whole life is here in Rapture. Leaving is not an option. What about yourself?”

“I don’t see a reason to leave.” He shrugs. “I got nothing waiting for me and this city’s always going to need me to keep it from falling apart.”

“Is that enough for you?”

Gavin looks at him curiously. “I don’t follow.”

“People have a purpose. For some, their job is everything. For others, they do what they do in order to support a family or climb the social ladder. You’ve never sounded passionate about your work and, as far as I can gather, there isn’t a girl in your life. What is it, then, that gets you out of bed in the morning? Is it the simple pleasures of coffee and a smoke, or is the marginal satisfaction in your work enough to keep you going?”

Gavin flicks his cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with his boot. “Who knows? Maybe I just like being alive. This city’s as good a place as any for that. What’s your purpose, then?”

“To ensure the continued success of CyberLife Industries.”

“No higher aspirations?”

His lips twitch. “Perhaps someday.”

It’s no secret, between the two of them, that Connor’s had his work cut out for him trying to get ahold of company secrets from Fontaine Futuristics and other particularly inventive companies. He and Hank make a startlingly effective duo--or trio, when Chloe, the lady on Kamski’s arm, gets involved.

Corporate spying doesn’t sound very much like a purpose in life.

“Well, maybe we’re both screwed. Hey, Con.” Gavin leans forward. “Lemme take you to the bar tonight. You don’t have a girl either, right?”

“Are you trying to cheer me up?”

“You never smoke, you never drink, and I’ve never seen you flirt. C’mon, man. Live a little. When’s the last time you spent the night with a woman?”

Connor frowns. “I’ve never been interested in sleeping with a woman.”

Gavin takes the cigarette from him and lights it, taking a drag. He offers it to Connor, but it is again refused. “We can skip the bar and return to my place.”

“Too cheap to offer me a drink first?”

“You assume I don’t have something good enough at home. I know what I’m doing.”

Connor stands, taking a coin out of his pocket and rolling it across his knuckles. “I’m afraid I’ll need a rain check on that invitation. I do have some business tonight, but… We should talk more on this some other time.”

Gavin feels himself deflate at the rejection; it stings more than he thought it might. “Some other time. Yeah.”

“Have a good evening, Gavin. Don’t smoke too much.”

“You too.”

 

 

**31 December 1958**

**11:47 PM**

 

The city is vibrant and alive with celebration, cheer and excitement permeating through every hall despite the city’s unrest. Out of sight and out of mind--it’s easy to ignore the plights of the poor and imprisoned while attending a party.

Elijah Kamski had managed to get a number of invites to the Kashmir Restaurant that evening. Hank had groaned at the idea while Gavin had shrugged and accepted the invitation without much fuss. (“Free snacks,” he’d said to Connor. “It’s the one party I never miss.”) Connor was directed to attend by Mr. Kamski, having no feelings one way or the other. He was not made with genuine emotions in mind.

They donned their masks (with more grumbling) and ended up mingling with the social elite for the evening.

“Do these people _ever_ get sick of oysters?” Gavin complains, taking a generous sip of champagne. He sits down next to Connor at the bar, Hank sitting the next seat over. The radio DJ and jukebox are on the other side of the room, loud enough to be heard but not so much that they can’t hear themselves over it. “I can’t stand the fucking things. Eugh. And here they are, just...”

“Like you don’t eat Beef-e straight from the tin,” Hank says. “I’m not sure which is worse, honestly.”

“At least tuna’s on the menu.”

“It’s undercooked,” Connor says quietly. “I would advise the aspic.”

“Too late.” Gavin grins, downing the rest of his glass. “Wasn’t half bad.”

“The way your brother ran off, I’m not sure I agree,” Hank says. “But I’ll bet your stomach’s stronger than his.”

“Damn right it is.”

The first notes of _Bei Mir Bist Du Schön_ begin playing in the restaurant, the trombone playing brightly in the room, and Gavin’s eyes light up. He gives Connor a look and a raised eyebrow.

Connor returns the look, unimpressed. “Did you want something, Mr. Reed?”

They aren’t dating. It would be inadvisable for a number of reasons. But Gavin enjoys spending time with him, and Connor is not opposed to it. The relationship that they have is... not unpleasant.

In his reports, he’s made sure to remove any mentions of anything more than a working relationship. Gavin deserves his privacy, after all.

Gavin sighs and grins nervously, standing from the seat and offering his hand. “Wanna dance?”

Hank scoffs, a sound that’s cut short by surprise as Connor accepts his hand.

“I’d love to.”

The place is crowded; the two hardly receive any attention, keeping their eyes only on each other. Neither knows how to dance, but they bounce with the rhythm, Gavin leading with his hand on Connor’s hip. Gavin can’t help smiling, looking up with his bright eyes from behind the mask, giddy with the energy of the night.

Connor returns the smile. And when Gavin leans up to meet his lips, he returns that, too.

It’s a simulation of emotion for the human’s sake, he knows, but he can’t help finding that this behavior generates positive feedback.

“It’s almost midnight,” Connor says. The two of them sway together, off beat with the final notes of the song.

“Yeah.” Gavin kisses him again. “A good way to ring in the new year, huh?”

Connor opens his mouth and the world explodes.

Gunshots ring out across the restaurant, followed by frantic screams. Bodies drop and blood sprays the walls, marring the pristine cleanliness of the venue.

Something within the restaurant goes off, taking a wall down with it, and shards of debris fly everywhere.

Gavin holds Connor’s arm tightly, his other hand reaching at his waist for a pistol that isn’t there and hasn’t been there for years. Neither of them can clearly see the attackers, but the moment Connor spots a bullet headed their way, he knows exactly where it will hit.

It’s against his directives to endanger himself and, by direct association, CyberLife Industries’ secrets.

But Gavin will die in a second, and that would be…

He doesn’t know what it would be.

He won’t let himself think about it.

Something snaps within him as if strings have been cut loose.

He yanks Gavin backward, using the force of the motion to propel himself forward, holding Gavin protectively. The bullet hits the back of his shoulder. The injury is non-critical.

“We need to go,” he says urgently, voice wavering. He feels something akin to fear.

He thinks he does.

Three more gunshots sound, sharper than the rest, and two bullets hit his back. It doesn’t hurt, but it is unpleasant. His status is not critical.

Gavin, on the other hand… The fabric of his shirt is stained red at the shoulder.

“Let’s get a fucking move on,” he growls, grabbing Connor by the wrist and heading for the nearest exit as fast as they can. They’re not the only ones with that idea, and more people around them fall.

Gavin makes the mistake of looking down and gasps. Connor follows his gaze, then pulls him firmly forward, away from the body of Elijah Kamski.

They find Hank outside, too, and he’s more recognizable than most with his grey hair and beard. “Hank!” Connor calls, running to catch up to him, Gavin right behind him.

“Fuck, you’re alive. Come on,” Hank says, and they hurriedly run out from there, running through the streets until they can’t run any more.

The three find themselves in a CyberLife Industries workshop, quiet at this time of night. Connor has the code to let them in, shutting the door behind him. The fighting doesn’t appear to be that bad this far out, but for the moment, it feels safe enough.

The humans catch their breath, Gavin sinking to the floor, but Connor begins to search. The first aid kit, first, which he grabs off the wall and carries over to the other two, kneeling to join them. “Gavin, how are you doing?” he asks, taking out a bandage. He looks at the shoulder, not quite sure how to proceed.

Hank takes it from him and starts examining the wound. “He was able to run, so not too bad. Get some water.”

Connor stands again, finding a water bottle on a workbench and bringing it over, letting Hank clean the wound.

“Someone tell me what the hell that was,” Gavin says, wincing at the attention to his shoulder. It looks like the bullet grazed him more than anything else, but it remains a concerning amount of blood. “I mean, what--wait--Connor are you okay? You got--you were shot, you--”

“Shh.” Connor presses a finger to his lips. “I’ll be fine. Focus on yourself first.”

“Your--Your back, it’s all dark and wet. Hank, you’ve gotta--”

“Gavin,” Connor says, leaning forward. “Let him bandage you up first, darling. I’m okay.” He takes Gavin’s hand, placing it over his chest. The mechanical heartbeat isn’t a perfect replication of an organic one, but it might ground him. “We’re all alive.”

“You’re next,” Hank warns. “Gavin’s right; you need to be looked at.”

“Are you injured?” Connor asks him. At a shake of his head, he asks, “Can you use a soldering iron?”

Hank begins wrapping the bandage. “Sure I can, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

Connor squeezes Gavin’s hand before letting go. He stands, taking a couple of steps back, then removes his black jacket, tossing it to the side. The white dress shirt comes next, and when it’s finally unbuttoned, he takes it off, revealing the bullet-ridden back of it soaked in blue. It joins the jacket, crumpling to the ground.

With a thought, the skin on his torso and upper arms retracts, revealing the silver and black metal and plastic beneath. “I would seal the bullet holes myself, but I’m afraid I am not that flexible.” He meets Hank’s eyes, then Gavin’s, and he cannot say he is surprised by their shock.

The silence drags on. Hank stands, Gavin’s arm bandaged, but he does not move.

“Please help me,” Connor says. “I will continue to bleed if you do not. I would… I would rather not die.”

Gavin elbows Hank’s leg. “You gonna help him or what?”

Hank glances down at him, then grunts and moves forward, passing Connor to search for a soldering iron. “What the fuck are you?” he asks amid the jostling of tools.

“I am an android,” Connor says. “A creation of Elijah Kamski’s.”

“One of his robots, huh?” Gavin says. “So you’re not even a real person? Figures.”

“Why?” Hank asks. He has the tool in hand. “Why make you? What was the point?”

“He gave me my job.” Connor approaches, then leans forward, arms folded on the workbench, so that Hank can work from his side. “There are more androids than just me. I don’t know what he wanted, in the end. If we all followed his directive and he made enough of us, he could have gained control of half of Rapture.” He drums his fingers across the surface. “He could have been paranoid or lonely. I don’t know.”

“This isn’t EVE.”

“Thirium. It’s my blood. There are pouches of it in the cupboards.” He turns his head to look at Gavin. “Does it matter to you that I’m not human?”

“You’re a machine. I’m not sure whether to be pissed off at you or myself.”

“I don’t know what I am anymore. Do you think it would be strange if I called myself a person? I am capable of independent thought, after all.”

“I just got shot, okay?” he snaps. “I’m not interested in your philosophical questions.”

Quietly, Connor faces forward again, letting the three of them lapse into silence.

 

 

**Estimated November 1960**

**Time unknown**

 

“Gavin,” Hank says, “Gavin, wake up.”

Gavin’s hand darts to the knife under his pillow but Hank’s hand stills his wrist. “It’s me. We’re safe, but grab your shit. We’re leaving.”

He sits, holding his throbbing head, and slides out of bed. He wore his day clothes and boots to bed, filthy as they are; if they’re ever found, he doesn’t want to be caught in his boxers. “Did someone find us?”

“Nah. Connor’s back.”

He grins, letting his hand drop and darting out of the makeshift bedroom.

They’ve been holed up in this bar for the past few weeks, hiding out from splicers and anyone else with a gun that wasn’t them. Over a year ago the chaos had worsened to a point of all-out war, something the city would never recover from, and they’ve been squatting in abandoned shelters across the city ever since.

The blinds on the windows are pulled down, preventing anyone from looking in or out, and the lock, still intact, has been done up. Connor stands just inside the door, dried blood on his boots and two guns on his person, but very much alive.

Gavin pulls him into a hug and kisses him, relishing the feeling as Connor reacts in kind, kissing him like he thought they’d never meet again. (And for that matter, he very well might have. They’ve been able to lay low, but danger lurks around every corner now, and Connor can’t even splice.)

He meets Connor’s eyes with his one, his right eye having been covered in scar tissue. “Was it true?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was.” Connor kisses him again. “It was really Chloe who sent the transmission. There’s a bathysphere. We can--We can get out of here.”

It’s like being doused in cold water. “No way,” he says. “The bathyspheres, you know we can’t use them. They’re locked off.”

“No, Gavin. Not this one.” Connor grins, cupping his face with his hands. “Elijah had a contingency plan. A selfish one. His own bathysphere, coded to his own genetics.”

“You think that means me?”

“I know it means you, darling. We’re getting out of here. All of us.”

Hank squeezes Gavin’s shoulder. “We’re gonna see the sun again.”

Gavin cries, leaning into Connor, and gives him one last, messy kiss before letting go.

He can’t wait to show Connor the rest of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "[Bei Mir Bist Du Schön](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orph2wkLFbI)" referenced in the fic.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> You can find me in the [New ERA Discord](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) or the Convin Discord, or on twitter as @gildedfrost


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